


Inhaler

by AsexualDerek (Cammerel)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asthma, Bullying, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cammerel/pseuds/AsexualDerek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott’s vaguely aware of Stiles’s attempt at getting his inhaler back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inhaler

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small part of a bigger fic, but you don't have to have read that part to be able to appreciate this one.

“I don’t mind walking,” Stiles says dismissively and nudges Scott in the side, “I have weak ankles, anyway,” he glances ahead of them at the group of students running along the track, “It’s not so bad, staying behind.”

Scott knows that Stiles is only staying behind to walk with him because of his asthma, but he smiles weakly regardless, “You don’t have to walk with me,” he says knowingly.

“No, I don’t,” Stiles agrees and winks, “But I want to,” he ignores the shouts from their coach, snorting and stretching his arms up, “I hate running this early in the morning anyway, no one should have gym for their second period class.”

“You’re gonna get flunked if you keep staying behind with me,” Scott tells him and subtly looks Stiles over as he stretches.

Stiles shrugs, “As long as I do well with other things, and put an effort in after the running, I should be fine. Besides, it’s not like I’m just doing this for myself.”

“That’s the problem, you’re doing it for me,” Scott says and grimaces a little, panting weakly, “You’re gonna be like… a loser by association.”

“Loser schmoozer,” Stiles responds, frowning as he looks at Scott, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah… I’m-” Scott stops walking and bends over, placing his hands on his knees as he takes a slow, deep breath in to try and stop what feels like the beginning of an asthma attack.

Stiles stops as well, reaching out to touch Scott’s back, “Hey,” he says again, eyes widening, “Uh…” he looks around, waving for the coach, “You have your inhaler?” he asks Scott, looking back to his friend.

Scott nods because he’s unable to speak, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls his inhaler out, fumbling to get the cap off of the mouth piece.

Stiles continues to pat Scott’s back, narrowing his brows as the group of students pass them for the second time, one of them in the back slowing and reaching out, snatching the inhaler from Scott as he runs by them. Before Stiles even has time to think about what he’s doing, he throws his ankle out, hooking it around Greenberg’s, and tripping him up.

Scott watches Greenberg fall on his face with wide eyes, chest starting to heave with painful, labored breaths. Despite the dizziness, he looks to Stiles with a slightly panicked expression and starts coughing. 

Greenberg stands back up, recovering quickly and waving the inhaler at Stiles and Scott, “Does the baby want his inhaler back?” he teases, “What’s wrong, Scotty McCall? Lost your breath?”

“Shut up, Greenberg,” Stiles says and lashes out for the inhaler, narrowing his brows when the other boy pulls it out of his reach. He isn’t tall enough to get it, so he reaches out and pulls Greenberg’s sweatpants down, running out of the way as the other boy tries to hit him.

Scott’s vaguely aware of Stiles’s attempt at getting his inhaler back. In different circumstances, he’d probably laugh at how pissed off Greenberg looks over getting pantsed, but his chest is hurting so bad it’s difficult for him to do much else aside from dropping to his knees in the grass next to the track.

Stiles runs around Greenberg, avoiding another fist aimed his way and he throws out his leg, kicking the back of Greenberg’s knee and knocking him down before jumping on him and snatching the inhaler from his grip. He gasps as the other boy jabs him in the side, but throws the inhaler at Scott just as the coach finally reaches them.

The inhaler lands right next to Scott and he reaches for it at once, wheezing as he finally gets the mouthpiece off. He puts it between his lips and inhales as he pushes the tube of medicine down, squeezing it two more times to get the medicine nice and deep into his lungs.

Stiles grins as he watches Scott, eyes widening when Greenberg starts to stand up and he falls backwards, off of the other boy, the coach reaching out and grabbing his arm, tugging him to his feet.

“Detention,” she says as she looks at Stiles, “Stilinski.”

“Oh, that’s a first,” Stiles responds sarcastically.

“Shut it, or you’ll be in there until next month,” the coach says back, glaring at him.

“Don’t-” Scott rasps pleadingly and clutches his inhaler tightly as he stumbles to his feet, chest aching, “He was just… trying to get my inhaler,” he tries explaining to the coach, “Greenberg took it.”

The coach nods slowly, “Yeah, I saw what happened,” she says as she looks at Greenberg, “Which is why you’re **also** in detention. And Scott, I want you to go see the nurse.”

Stiles opens his mouth to complain but closes it when she shouts ‘detention, Stilinski’ at him and he winces, “Okay, okay,” he says, pulling his arm from her, “I’m going, see me going?”

Scott wants to tell the coach that he’ll be fine, but he figures that if she’s giving him an excuse to walk back to the school with Stiles, then he’ll take it. He’s still kind of in shock that his friend did what he did in order to get his inhaler back, but he’s grateful, and possibly just a little bit in love with Stiles for it.

Stiles watches Greenberg leave first, then looks at Scott and smiles sheepishly, “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Scott says hoarsely and clears his throat, jerking his head towards the school for Stiles to follow before he starts walking back, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Stiles asks as he walks beside Scott, still trying to catch his own breath.

“You kinda just saved my life, dude,” Scott responds and puts his inhaler in his pocket before looking at Stiles, rubbing a hand over his chest, “Nobody’s ever took up for me like that before.”

Stiles shrugs, his cheeks heating, “Yeah, well, it was just your **life** I was fighting for, and fuck Greenberg, m’I right? Besides, yolo.”

Scott isn’t even going to ask or pretend to know what ‘yolo’ means, shrugging weakly as he leans into Stiles and bumps their shoulders together, “Still,” he says sincerely, “Thanks.”

“You don’t gotta thank me, Scotty,” Stiles responds, wrapping his arm around Scott’s shoulders, “Besides, who the fuck steals an inhaler from someone? Like… what the Hell.”

“Well,” Scott strains the word and tentatively wraps his arm around Stiles’s back, fingers curling against the other boy’s ribs as they walk, “It is Greenberg we’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, “He never was the sharpest tool in the crayon box, was he?”


End file.
